"I'm not a back-number yet, but it's lucky the opposition don't know how hard it was for me to get up."

Alvarez made a sign of understanding. "You must dismount as soon as possible. You are very staunch, my friend."

"I've got to make good. If everything is fixed, we'll pull out."

"Adios, senores," said Alvarez, taking off his hat. "Much depends on you."

Somebody gave an order, there was a rattle of thrown-up rifles, a patter of naked feet, and the party moved away. Kit, turning after a few moments, looked back. He saw the long, straight building, pierced here and there by lights, rise against the orange sky, and the president's tall figure, conspicuous in white clothes, in front of the arch. His attendants had vanished, he stood motionless, as if brooding, and Kit thought he looked pathetic and lonely. He afterwards remembered his glance at the old presidio.

They rode down a hot street. The moon had not risen and the place was dark except for the feeble gleam of an oil-lamp at a corner. The clatter of the mules' feet on the uneven stones echoed along the walls, and here and there indistinct figures looked out from shadowy doors. For the most part, the watchers let them pass in silence, and although Kit imagined news of their departure would travel fast, he was glad they passed none of the lighted cafes and open squares. It would be hard to see who was riding the mules, and while Galdar's spies would probably find out this would need time and time was important.

After leaving the streets, they followed the road to the port for some distance, and then turned into a track that wound along a dark hillside among clumps of trees. When they entered it, Adam stopped his mule and got down awkwardly.

"I've had about as much as I can stand for," he remarked, breathing hard. "Looks as if we had got a start, but I reckon the other lot will try to track us to the port when the moon gets up."

Then with a sigh of relief he lay down in a hammock the peons had got ready, and when two of the latter took up the poles they went on again.

On the second night after leaving the presidio, Kit sat on the coaming of a small steam launch that lurched across the long undulations rolling in from the Caribbean. It had been blowing fresh, and although the wind had dropped the swell ran high. When the launch swung up, a vague, hazy smear rather suggested than indicated land astern; the sea ahead was dark, but in one place a faint reflection on the sky told that the moon would soon rise. Although the beach was some distance off, a dull monotonous rumble, pierced now and then by the clank of the launch's engines, hinted at breaking surf. The furnace door was open and the red light touched Adam's face as he sat, supported by a cushion, in a corner of the cockpit. He looked very haggard and Kit thought him the worse for his journey.

"The light's in my eyes, but there was nothing on the skyline a minute or two ago," Kit remarked. "It will be awkward if Mayne doesn't get across. You seem persuaded he'll come."

"I know he'd start. We can't tell what may have happened afterwards and there was more wind than I liked. He'll be here on time, if he's been able to keep the old boat off the ground."

"Time is getting short. I expect the rebels have found out we're not at the port and Galdar will have the road watched when the news gets to the town. It might pay him to risk forcing a conflict if he could seize the convoy, and I'll feel happier when the guns and money are off our hands. It will be the president's business to look after them then."

"That's so," Adam agreed. "Our part of the job's to land the goods and it's unlucky the tides are small. There won't be much water on the shoals and although we'll have an extra few inches tomorrow, I don't want Mayne to wait."

Kit pondered, for he had taken some soundings when coming out. They were probably not correct, because the launch had rolled among the white combers that swept the shoals while he used the lead, but the average depth was about the steamer's draught in her usual trim. Mayne, however, ought to know what depth to expect, and Kit hoped he had loaded the vessel to correspond. By and by the mulatto fireman shut the furnace door, the puzzling light was cut off, and Kit searched the horizon. For some minutes, he saw nothing; and then a trail of red fire soared into the sky.

"He's brought her across," said Adam. "Get our rocket off."

The rocket swept up in a wide curve and burst into crimson lights. After this there was darkness for a time until an indistinct black object appeared against the brightening sky. Then the launch sank back into the trough, where the gloom was only broken by the glimmer of the phosphorescence that spangled the water. When she swung up on the top of the next swell the steamer was plainer and Kit blew the whistle as he changed their course.

When the moon rose slowly out of the sea he stopped the clanking engine and the launch reeled up and down, some fifty yards off the steamer. The Rio Negro carried no lights, but the phosphorescence shone upon her wet plates as she rolled them out of the water. Her side rose high and black, and then sank until her rail was nearly level with the spangled foam. Indistinct figures scrambled about her deck, and when Kit sheered the launch in, her ladder went down with a rattle. A half-breed on board the launch caught it with his boat hook, and Adam stood at the bow, waiting for a chance to jump upon the narrow platform that lurched up above him and then plunged into the sea. Kit felt anxious. He did not think Adam was equal to the effort and dreaded the consequences of the shock if he missed and fell.

"Stand by!" he shouted to the seaman on the ladder when the Rio Negro steadied after a violent roll; and then touched Adam. "Now; before she goes back!"

Adam, jumping awkwardly, seized the seaman's hand, and Kit, leaning out, pushed him on to the platform as it began to sink. Then he jumped and coming down in a foot or two of water helped Adam to the deck. Mayne met them at the gangway and took them to his room, where Adam sat down and gasped. When Mayne poured out some liquor he clutched the glass with a shaking hand. After he drained it he was silent for a moment or two; and then asked in a strained voice: "Have you brought the goods?"

"Got them all. We hadn't a nice trip. Don't know how Finlay kept her going and I thought I'd lost her on Tortillas reef; but we can talk about that afterwards."

Adam made a sign of satisfaction and leaned back feebly. "It's some relief to know the goods are here."

"Finlay can drive her seven knots and has plenty steam," Mayne said to Kit. "I'm bothered about the water; there won't be too much."

Kit asked the vessel's draught and looked thoughtful when he heard what it was.

"I can't guarantee my soundings, but imagine she won't float across and an ugly sea is running on the bar."

"She'll certainly hit the bottom and the chances are she hits it hard," Mayne remarked when Kit told him the depth he had got. "I expect, too, the mist will drift off from the mangroves with the land-breeze and hide our marks." He paused and glanced at Adam, who leaned back in a corner with his eyes half shut.

"But I reckon we have got to take her in?"

"Yes," said Adam dully. "Leave me alone; you can fix things with Kit."

Mayne beckoned Kit and they went to the bridge. The moon had risen and threw a belt of silver light across the sea, but it was a half moon and would not help them much. Ahead, in the distance, gray haze obscured the water, and the dull roar that came out of the mist had become distinct. Mayne rang his telegraph to reduce the speed.

"So far as I can reckon, it won't be high-water for most two hours, and on this coast you can't calculate just how much the tide will rise. There's going to be trouble if we find it shoaler than we expect and I had plenty trouble coming along. Finlay could hardly drive her four knots in last night's breeze and the current put us on Tortillas reef. She stopped there twenty minutes, jambed down on her bilge while the sea came on board."

Kit noted two boats that had obviously been damaged while the steamer hammered on the reef, and the white crust of salt on the funnel; but Mayne resumed: "Say, the old man looks shaky; never seen him like that. You want to get him home."

"He won't go. However, he's rather worse tonight. I think he was anxious about your turning up in time to catch the tide. The journey tried him and now a reaction has begun."

"Well, I allow there's not much use in arguing if he means to stay; but he needn't have bothered about my getting across. When the orders came, I knew I had to bring her or pile her up. What Askew says goes."

They were silent for a time while the Rio Negro, with engines throbbing slowly, crept towards the coast. The land breeze brought off a steamy heat and a sour smell. The long undulations were wrinkled by small waves, and a thin low haze that obscured the moon spread across the water. Kit, looking up now and then, could see the mastheads swing across the sky. There was, however, nothing to be seen ahead but a gray line that moved back as the steamer went on.

"It's sure a blamed bad night for our job," Mayne remarked as he gazed towards the hidden land. "I'm glad I told your dagos to burn a flare when they hit the channel."

Kit said nothing. The launch had vanished, and there was no guiding light in the mist. The turmoil of the surf had got louder and rang through the dark like the roar of a heavy train. Presently Mayne ordered a sounding to be taken and looked at Kit when the leadsman called the depth.

"A foot less than we reckoned, and there won't be much rise. I don't like it, Mr. Askew, and if my employer was not your uncle, I'd heave the old boat round."

Kit nodded sympathetically. He felt he hated the smothering haze that rolled in front and hid the dangers, but they must go on and trust to luck. He knew Adam's plans and no arguments would shake his resolve. Half an hour later a twinkle broke out some distance ahead and Mayne rang his telegraph.

"I'm thankful for that, anyhow," he remarked. "We'll let her go, but I have my doubts about what will happen next."

The throb of engines quickened, the gurgle of water got louder at the bows, and the Rio Negro, lurching sharply, went shorewards with tide and swell. The twinkle vanished and reappeared, to starboard now, and chains rattled as the quartermaster pulled round the wheel. Then the light faded and they were left without a guide in the puzzling haze. Ten minutes afterwards there was a heavy shock, and a rush of foam swept the rail as the steamer listed down. She lifted and struck again with a jar that tried Kit's nerve. A hoarse shout came from the forecastle and men ran about the slanted deck as a frothing sea rolled on board. Mayne, clutching his telegraph, beckoned Kit.

"Bring Mr. Askew up. He's got to tell me what I am to do."

Kit met Adam clumsily climbing the ladder and when he helped him to the bridge Mayne remarked: "She's on the tongue shoal. Don't know if I can back her off and steam out to deep water, but, if you consent, I want to try."

"I won't consent," said Adam. "We're going in! What's that light to starboard?"

"The launch; she's in the channel. I doubt if there's water enough for us, if we can get there."

"Then, shove her across the sand or let her go to bits."

Mayne rang the telegraph and touched his cap. "Very well! She's your ship, and we have some sound boats left."

For the next ten minutes Kit clung to the bridge. He wanted to help Adam into the pilot-house, but the old man waved him off. Clouds of spray swept the vessel and made it hard to see her rail where the white combers leaped. Now and then one broke on board and poured in a foaming torrent across the slanted deck; she trembled horribly as she struck the sand. It looked as if she were driving sideways across the shoal, but the flare on the launch had gone out and Kit doubted if Mayne knew where he was.

Sometimes the tall, black forecastle swung in a quarter-circle; sometimes the stern went round. For the most part, however, she lay with her side to the rollers and it was plain that the struggle could not last long. If they did not get off in a few minutes, rivets would smash and butts open, and one must take one's chances in the boats. Two were damaged, but others might be launched, and Kit was relieved to note that two or three deck-hands moved about as if engaged in clearing the davit-tackles. He sympathized with the men, although he did not think Mayne had given them orders.

In the meantime, Adam clung to the rails, swaying when the bridge slanted, but looking unmoved, and Kit knew that so long as the Rio Negro's engines turned he would go on. It was not for nothing men called him the Buccaneer, and now that he was staking his life and fortune on a hazardous chance there was something daunting about his grim resolve.

A sea rolled up astern and buried the poop. Kit felt the steamer lift and turn, as if on a pivot at the middle of her length. The after-deck was full of water, but the bows were high and going round, and he was conscious of a curious shiver that ran through the straining hull as she shook herself free from the sand. She crawled forward, stopped, and moved again with a staggering lurch. The next sea swept her on, but she did not strike, and after a few moments Kit knew she had crossed the top of the shoal.

Her whistle shrieked above the turmoil of the sea, a light blinked in the spray, and she lurched on before the tumbling combers. By and by the water got smooth and an indistinct dark mass grew out of the mist. Mayne, who was pacing up and down his bridge, stopped near Kit with a reckless laugh.

"This is the kind of navigation they break skippers for! If those are the mangroves on False Point, I may take her in; if they're not, we'll make a hole in the forest."

Kit looked about, but could not see the launch. The dark mass was a thick belt of trees, but he did not know, and did not think Mayne knew, where they were, and the easy motion indicated that the tide was carrying the steamer on. Much to his relief, the indistinct wall of forest seemed to bend back, away from the sea. It looked as if they were entering the lagoon; and then he heard the telegraph and the rattle of rudder chains.

The screw shook the vessel as it spun hard-astern, and the bows began to swing. It was, however, too late; the forecastle would not clear the mangroves, and Kit knew the water was deep among their roots. Shouting to Adam, he seized the rails and waited for the shock. It came, for there was a crash, and a noise of branches breaking. The steamer rolled, recoiled, and forged on into the forest.

Some minutes later, Mayne stopped his engines and there was a curious quietness as he came up to Adam.

"We are fast in the mud, sir. Although she'll take a list when the tide falls, we may be able to work cargo. I'll lay out an anchor in the morning and try to heave her off, but I calculate it will be full moon before she floats."



CHAPTER VII

THE MANGROVE SWAMP

Early next morning, Kit went on deck. Although it was hot, everything dripped with damp, and sour-smelling mist drifted past the ship. Her masts and funnels slanted and Kit could hardly keep his footing on the inclined deck. When he looked over the rail, the rows of wet plates ran up like a wall above broken mangrove roots and pools of slime. Smashed trunks and branches were piled against the bows and dingy foliage overhung the vessel's lower side.

Kit walked aft. The screw was uncovered, and shallow, muddy water, dotted by floating scum, surrounded the stern, which projected into the lagoon. In one place, however, a mud-bank touched the bilge, and three or four men, standing on planks, cautiously tried its firmness. They were wet and splashed, and one who ventured a few yards from the plank sank to his waist. The others pulled him out and then they climbed a rope ladder. Kit thought the experiment proved that nothing useful could be done until the tide flowed round the ship.

Another gang was moving a kedge-anchor across the deck, while a few more coiled heavy ropes beside the winch. Mayne obviously meant to try to heave the vessel off, but Kit thought he would not succeed until the moon was full. In the meantime, cargo could only be landed when there was water enough to float boats up to the ship, and Kit glanced across the lagoon. There were no mangroves on the other side, although thick timber grew close down to a belt of sand. Below this was mud, across which he imagined heavy goods could not be carried. The heat and steamy damp made him languid, and he went to Adam's room. Adam had got up and sat, half-dressed, on the lower berth with a glass on the floor close by. His hands shook and there was no color in his lips.

"It's rather early for a strong cocktail, but I felt I needed bracing," he said. "What do you think about our chance of getting her off?"

"I imagine it's impossible for another week and don't see how we'll get the cargo out."

"Don't you?" said Adam grimly. "It has got to be done. If Mayne finds the job too big, I'll put it through myself."

"You ought to leave before the malaria knocks you down," Kit rejoined. "If I had the power, I'd make you go."

Adam smiled. "You mean well, boy, but you don't understand, and if you plot with Mayne to bluff me, I'll surely break you both. Now go and see if the president's men have arrived. Then you can tell Mayne to rig his derricks and take the hatches off."

Kit went out and after a time three or four figures appeared among the trees across the lagoon. They came down to the mud, but when Kit shouted, asking if they could launch a canoe, one shrugged and they turned back.

"I reckon the old man means us to get busy with the cargo," Mayne remarked.

"Yes," said Kit. "I understand he's ready to undertake the job if we find it too much for us."

"He's a hustler, sure! So far as I can see, the thing can't be done, but if Askew wants it done, I guess we've got to try. We'll carry out the kedge and make fast a warp or two when the tide flows. He'll expect it, though I don't reckon much on our chance of floating her."

By degrees the muddy water crawled up the plates and the Rio Negro rose upright; the haze melted and it got fiercely hot when the sun shone. A canoe, manned by half-breed peons, crossed the lagoon, and with heavy labor the kedge-anchor was hoisted out and hung between two boats. Half-naked men toiled at the oars until the lashings were cut and the boats rocked as the anchor sank. Then their crews, dragging large stiff warps, forced their way among the mangrove roots and made the ropes fast where they could. They came back exhausted, dripping with water and daubed by slime, and Mayne went to the bridge.

The sun pierced the narrow awning and there was not a breath of wind. The lagoon shone with dazzling brightness and the iron deck threw up an intolerable heat. Kit felt the perspiration soak his thin clothes, and big drops of moisture trickled down Adam's yellow face as he sat with half-shut eyes, in a canvas chair. By and by he took out his watch, and Kit noted that he moved it once or twice before he could see the time.

"Hadn't you better get busy?" he asked Mayne.

The telegraph clanged, the engines panted, and the Rio Negro began to shake as the screw revolved. There was no movement but the racking throb, until Mayne raised his hand and winch and windlass rattled. Puffs of steam blew about, the cable rose from the water with a jar, and the warps ran slowly across the winch-drums, foul with greasy scum.

"Hold on to it!" Mayne shouted. "Get in the last inch!"

His voice was drowned by the rattle of chain and hiss of steam, but the uproar began to die away and the sharp clatter of small engines changed to spasmodic jars. Then somebody shouted, there was a crash, and the end of a broken warp, flying back, tore up the dazzling water. The windlass stopped, and a few moments later a clump of mangroves swayed. Kit heard green wood crack, as a rope that had stretched and strained began to move. Then Mayne raised his hand.

"Let go; stop her! You're pulling up the trees."

There was a sudden quietness except for the insistent throb of the screw, and Mayne turned to Adam.

"If the cable holds, I can smash the windlass, but I can't heave her off."

"Very well. You quit and get the cargo out. Better hustle while she's upright."

Mayne went down the ladder and when he unlocked the iron door of the after wheel-house a gang of men brought out a row of small-boxes. A mulatto from the beach, who wore neat white clothes and an expensive hat, counted the boxes and then gave Adam a receipt.

"Don Hernando will be glad to get these goods and we will start at once," he said. "Although I have a guard, it will be safe to reach the town before the president's enemies know."

"That would be prudent, senor," Adam agreed, and turned to Kit when the mulatto went away.

"I have done my part and it's Alvarez's business to see the chests get through. Well, we have both taken some chances since he was a Customs-clerk and I a contrabandista running the old Mercedes, but I reckon this is my rashest plunge. Anyhow, if I get my money back or not, I've put up the goods. Now you can tell Mayne to break out the guns."

Mayne gave orders, derrick-booms swung from the stumpy masts, pulleys rattled, and heavy cases rose from the holds. The boats, however, could not get abreast of the forward hatch and the cases had to be moved across slippery iron plates to the after derrick that hoisted them overboard. It was exhausting work, and the heat was intolerable. The white crew threw off their soaked clothes and toiled half-naked in the sun that burned their skin, but Adam left the awning and went about in the glare.

At first, the mates grumbled with indignant surprise. Their employer was breaking rules; working the cargo was their business and nobody else must meddle. Besides, they had not met a shipowner able to superintend the job. One who ventured a protest, however, stopped in awkward embarrassment when Adam gave him a look, and the others soon admitted that few captains knew more about derricks and slings. Nevertheless, Kit was anxious as he watched his uncle. He knew Adam would pay for this and wondered how long he could keep it up.

At noon, the peons refused another load and when Adam addressed them in virulent Castilian, coolly pulled the boats away from the ship. When they had rowed a short distance they stopped and one got up.

"More is not possible, senor," he said. "To work in this sun is not for flesh and blood. After we have slept for an hour or two, we will come back."

Adam felt for his pistol, but hesitated, with his hand at his silk belt, and Kit thought he looked very like a Buccaneer.

"It might pay to plug that fellow, and I'd have risked it when I came here in the Mercedes. Still, I guess Don Hernando has enough trouble."

Mayne, standing behind him, grinned. "I reckon that fixes the thing. Don't know I'm sorry the dagos have lit out; my crowd are used up and ready to mutiny."

For two hours the tired crew rested while the water sank and the steamer resumed her awkward list. Then the boats came back and the men crawled languidly about the slanted deck, until Adam went among them with bitter words. The sea breeze was blowing outside, but no wind could enter the gap in the trees, and foul exhalations from warm mud and slime poisoned the stagnant air. Kit's head ached, his eyes hurt, and his joints were sore; he felt strangely limp and it cost him an effort to get about.

All the while the winches hammered and pulleys screamed as the cases came up and the empty slings went down. The heat got suffocating and the slant of masts and deck made matters worse, because the men must hold the derricks back with guys while the heavy goods cleared the coamings of the hatch. Much judgment was needed to drop them safely in the boats. Men gasped and choked, quarreled with each other, and growled at the mates, but somehow held on while the tide ebbed and the sun sank nearer the mangroves' tops. It dipped when the breathless peons pushed the last boat away from the Rio Negro's side, and the noisy machines stopped.

Darkness spread swiftly across the lagoon and a white fog, hot and damp as steam, rose from the forest and hung about the ship. Everything was very quiet, for the men were too limp to talk, but a murmur came out of the distance where the long swell beat upon the shoals. Kit and Mayne sat in the chart-room, with a jug of iced liquor on the table in front. Sometimes they spoke a few words and sometimes smoked in silence, while Adam lay on the settee, saying nothing. At length, he got up and a steward helped him to his room. Somehow the others felt it a relief that he had gone.

"I can hustle, but your uncle makes me tired," Mayne remarked. "If you get what I mean, it's like watching a dead man chase the boys about; you feel it's unnatural to see him on his feet. Well, one has to pay for fooling with a climate like this, and I'm afraid the bill he'll get will break him. Can't you make him quit?"

"I can't; I've tried."

"The curious thing is he knows the cost," Mayne resumed. "Knows what's coming to him unless he goes."

"Yes," said Kit in a thoughtful voice, "I believe he does know and doesn't mind. This makes it rough on me. I'm powerless to send him off and I'm fond of the old man."

Mayne made a sign of agreement. "He's a pretty tough proposition and was worse when he was young; but I've risked my life to serve him. The Buccaneer holds his friends."

Kit said nothing. He was anxious and depressed and soon went off to bed.

When work began next morning, Adam was on deck and superintended the landing of the cargo in spite of Kit's protest. Kit thought the day was hotter than the last, and after an hour or two's disturbed sleep in his stifling room, found it hard to drag himself about. When the exhausted peons stopped at noon, he lay under the awning and kept close to Adam when they resumed. He did not like his uncle's fixed frown and thought it was caused by the effort he made to keep at work. If not, it was a hint of pain he stubbornly tried to overcome. Besides, his step was dragging and his movements were awkward.

About the middle of the afternoon, Adam stood near the noisy winch while a case was hoisted. The winch-man looked up when the heavy load, hanging from the derrick, swung across the slanted deck.

"Hold her while they steady the boom!" Adam shouted and seized the rope that slipped round the drum.

The winch-driver was watching the others who struggled with the guy, and perhaps forgot it was not a strong man who had come to his help. For a moment or two, Adam kept his grip, and then his hands opened and he staggered back. Somebody shouted, a pulley rattled, and the case, running down, crashed against the steamer's rail. Kit ran forward, but reached the spot a moment too late, for Adam lay unconscious on the iron deck.

They picked him up and carried him to the bridge, where it was a little cooler than his room, but for some time he did not open his eyes. Then he looked about dully and seeing Kit gave him a feeble smile.

"You're in charge now, partner; keep the boys hustling," he said. "There's the coffee to load up when you have put the guns ashore. Looks as if I had got to leave the job to you."

He turned his head, drew a hard breath, as if it had hurt him to speak, and said nothing more. The work, however, went on until it got dark, and when the mist rose from the mangroves and a heavy dew began to fall they carried Adam to his room. He slept for part of the night while Kit watched, but now and then tossed about with delirious mutterings. When morning came he did not wake and Kit, looking at his pinched, wet face, went on deck with a heavy heart. He had sent for the Spanish doctor, but thought it did not matter much if Senor Martin came or not. In another day or two he would be alone.



CHAPTER IX

ADAM'S LAST REQUEST

It was nearly full moon, the night was calm, and the flowing tide rippled among the mangrove roots. Clammy vapor drifted about the ship and big drops fell from the rigging and splashed upon the deck. A plume of smoke went nearly straight up from the funnel, and now and then the clang of furnace-slice and shovel rose from the stokehold, for Mayne hoped to float the vessel next tide. For the most part, however, the men were asleep and it was very quiet in the room under the poop. A lamp tilted at a sharp angle gave a feeble light that touched Adam's face. Kit sat on a locker opposite, looking anxious and worn.

"You loaded up some of the coffee," Adam remarked in a strained voice.

"Half of it, I think; the rest's on the beach," said Kit. "It's doubtful if we'll get the next lot, since Senor Martin understands the fighting has begun."

"The lot you have shipped will be something to score against the account; it's prime coffee and ought to sell well. I'd like you to get the rubber, but Alvarez can't wait long for the goods Mackellar has ready for the boat. Another voyage and you can pull out for the old country. I'd reckoned on going with you, but that's done with."

Kit said nothing. The doctor had come and gone, for he was needed elsewhere and could not help the sick man. One could indulge him and make things comfortable for a few days but that was all, he said, and Kit saw that Adam knew. By and by the latter resumed:

"I've been thinking about Peter and Ashness. I'd have liked to see the old place and the fells again, and when I was half asleep I thought I heard the beck splash among the thorns and the pee-wits crying. Well, you are going back, and you'll marry that girl. Though it will cost you something to see Alvarez through, you ought to be rich enough."

"You mustn't talk too much," said Kit. "Senor Martin told you to rest."

Adam smiled. "It doesn't matter now if I rest or not. My brain's clearer and I'll talk while I can. I never told you much about my early life, but I'm going to do so, because there's something I want to ask."

"Then, you have only to ask it," Kit replied.

"I know," said Adam, feebly. "You're staunch. Well, you have seen the despatch-box in the office, marked Hattie G., though I lost the old boat long before you came out. She was a coal-eater and didn't pay to run, but I kept her going until she hit the reef. My first steamboat—I got her when she was going cheap; but she was bought with my wife's money, and called after her.

"I met Hattie in Florida about the year you were born. She was Vanhuyten's cousin and the finest thing that ever wore a woman's shape. Northern grit and Southern fire, for she sprang from New England and good Virginia stock; I've seen no woman with her superb confidence. Well, I was a contrabandista with some ugly tales against my name, but I fell in love with Hattie and married her in a month."

Adam was silent for a few minutes, and while Kit mused, shovels clinked in the stokehold and the vessel began to lift. The tilted lamp straightened and its light rested on Adam's wasted form. His silk pyjamas rather emphasized than hid his gauntness; he looked strangely worn and weak, but Kit could picture the strong passion of his love-making. There was something fierce and primitive about the old Buccaneer, and it was not hard to see how he had, so to speak, swept the romantic girl off her feet by the fiery spirit that had burned him out. Yet he had never talked about other women, and though he knew the South, Kit thought he had cared for none.

"I left her in a few weeks," Adam went on. "Alvarez was putting up for president and my savings were at stake. Hattie went home to Virginia while I helped Alvarez on the coast. He was hard up against it, though he's been president three times since. Well, when things looked blackest, I was knocked out in Salinas swamps, by fever and a bullet that touched my lungs. They took me to the old Indian mission—we were cut off from the ship—and Father Herman put the rurales off my track. I've sent him wine and candles, he's at the mission yet; it stands between thick forest and swamps like this, and the padre's the only white man who has lived there long. Get down the chart and I'll show you the landing place."

Kit did so, feeling that he ought to indulge a sick man's caprice, and Adam, after giving him clear directions, was quiet for some minutes. Then he began again, with an effort:

"Vanhuyten told Hattie, and I found out afterwards, that she had had trouble at home. Her folks had never trusted me and wanted to keep her back, but she had rich friends who sent her out, like an American princess, on a big steam yacht. She got to the mission when I was at my worst, and finding I could not be moved, sent the yacht away. It was some days before I knew she had come. There was no doctor to be got. Alvarez could not send help, and the government soldiers were hunting for his friends, but Father Herman knew something about medicine and Hattie helped him better than a trained nurse. I can see her now, going about the mud-walled room in her clean, white dress, without a hint of weariness in her gentle eyes. That was when she thought I was watching, but sometimes at night her head bent and her figure drooped.

"It was blisteringly hot and when the sun went down the poisonous steam from the swamps drifted round the spot. Sometimes I begged her not to stay, and sometimes I raged, but Hattie could not be moved and my weak anger broke before her smiles. She was strong and would not get fever, she said; she had come to nurse me, and, if I insisted, would go home when I was well."

Adam stopped and asked for a drink, and afterwards Kit hoped he had gone to sleep, but he presently roused himself again.

"I have got to finish, partner, because there's a reason you should hear it all. By and by Father Herman had to nurse us both, and when I got better Hattie died. We buried her by torchlight in the dusty mission yard—she was a Catholic—you'll see the marble cross. I've been lonely ever since, and that's partly why I sent for you; Peter came next to Hattie and you are Peter's son. Now I'm ready to pull out and somehow I think Hattie will find me when I'm wandering in the dark. Love like hers is strong. But I want you to listen when you have given me another drink."

Kit held the glass to Adam's cracked lips. He drank and lay still, breathing hard, and Kit heard the ripple of the tide. The Rio Negro was getting upright and as the lamp turned in its socket the light moved across the wall. After a time, Adam resumed in a clearer voice:

"All I have is yours; Mackellar will prove the will, but you'll see Alvarez out, as I meant to do. Another thing; Mayne will get the old boat off tomorrow, and when he's loaded up I want you to take me out and land me on the creek I marked behind Salinas Point. He can fly the flag half-mast; I'll have started on the lone trail then. You'll hire some half-breed boys at the pueblo in the swamp, and take me to the mission and lay me beside my wife. Hattie was a Catholic and you can tell Father Herman that what she believed was good enough for me. Afterwards, you'll send him now and then the box of candles he will tell you about. They're to burn in the little chapel before Our Lady of Sorrows, where Hattie used to pray I might get well. You'll do this for me?"

"I will," Kit answered with forced quietness. "Then I've finished," said Adam. "I'm going to sleep now and mayn't talk much again."

He turned his head from the light and presently Kit, hearing him breathe quietly, went out on deck.

At high-water next day, the Rio Negro floated off the mud and when she swung to her anchor Kit went into Adam's room. Adam was very weak, but looked up.

"Get the coffee on board; I'm afraid you won't have time for the next lot and the rubber," he said. "Tell Finlay to bank his fires. You'll want steam to take me out."

Kit understood, and nodded because he could not speak, and Adam, giving him a quiet smile, went to sleep again.

Some hours later, Mayne joined Kit, who had gone on deck for a few minutes.

"That's the last of the hacienda Luisa coffee," he said, indicating a boat alongside. "The peons tell me the next lot's coming down, but if we ship it, we'll miss the tide."

"You can close the hatches. The coffee must wait."

"It's high-grade stuff and brings top price. I sure don't like to leave it to spoil."

"We must risk that," Kit said quietly.

"There's another thing; Pedro, the clerk, reckons they're fighting near Salinas and the president's not popular in that neighborhood. Looks as if you might have some trouble to take the old man to the mission."

"It's possible," said Kit. "I'm going to try. Have everything ready for us to get off to-night."

Mayne lifted his hand to his cap. "Very well, sir. We'll start as soon as there's water enough."

He went away, but Kit knew what he meant. The captain had done his duty by indicating obstacles, but he approved his new master's resolve and owned his authority. Kit was persuaded he would have Mayne's loyal help and went back to Adam's room. When it was getting dark, Adam moved his head as the engines began to throb and the propeller churned noisily in the shallow water. It stopped after a few turns and steam blew off.

"Finlay's giving her a trial spin," Adam remarked, in a very faint voice. "I see you've got things fixed and I'm ready to start." He stopped and shut his eyes for a minute or two, and Kit did not know if he was conscious or not. Then he resumed in a strained whisper: "All's ready; ring for full-speed. I'm going to meet my wife."

He drew a hard breath, sighed, and did not speak again. An hour afterwards, Mayne met Kit coming out of the room, and glancing at his face took off his cap.

"I guess it hits you hard and I'll miss him, too," he said. "I'll not get another master like the Buccaneer."

He went off to give some orders and Kit sat down, feeling very desolate.

When the tide had risen and flowed past, oily smooth, under the full moon, the windlass began to rattle and the cable clanged. The anchor came up and when the engines shook the ship Mayne pulled the whistle-line and a long blast rolled across the woods. Next moment a rocket soared and burst in a shower of colored lights.

"Vanhuyten and Askew's signal! The head of the house is making his last trip," the captain remarked.

The echoes sank, the colored lights burned out, and the measured beat of engines jarred upon the silence as the Rio Negro went to sea. For a time the land breeze blew the steam of the swamps after her, and masts and funnels reeled through a muggy haze as she lurched across the surf-swept shoals. She floated high and light, her muddy side rising like a wall as she steadied between the rolls that dipped her channels in the foam. Outside, the swell was regular and the roll long and rhythmical; the haze thinned, the air got sweet and cool, and the hearts of the crew got lighter as she steamed out to open sea. For all that, men lowered their voices and trod quietly when they passed the poop cabin where her dead owner lay.

At sunrise, Mayne hoisted the house-flag, and the Stars and Stripes drooped languidly half way up the ensign staff, until the glassy calm broke and the sea breeze straightened the blue and silver folds. By and by he changed the course and mountains rose ahead, although a bank of cloud hid the plain and mangrove forest at their feet. In the afternoon, he searched the haze with his glasses, and getting a bearing stopped the engines near Salinas Point at dusk.

"If the weather's good, I'll wait three days," he said. "Then, if you send no word, I'll pull out for Havana and get the engines properly fixed. Better take this bag of Spanish money; minted silver goes and you may find the dagos shy of the president's notes."

Kit took the money, a boat was swung out, and four sailors carried the plain, flag-wrapped coffin down the ladder. They were rough men, but Kit imagined he could trust them. Another crew picked up the oars, greasy caps were lifted, the Rio Negro's whistle screamed a last salute, and the boat stole away. Mayne steamed off to anchor on good holding ground, and Kit sat at the tiller, with his eyes fixed on the misty coast.

It was dark when he heard breakers and saw the glimmer of surf. There were shoals all round him, but he had been told about a bay where a creek flowed through a sheltered channel. He did not know if he could find the channel, and if not the boat might be wrecked, but something must be left to luck and they pulled on before the curling swell. She struck, and stopped until a comber rolled up astern. It broke and half buried her in rushing foam, but she lifted, lurched ahead, and did not strike again. The men were nearly knee-deep as they baled the water out and one was afterwards idle because his oar had gone. In spite of this, they made the creek and drifted quietly into the gloom of the mangroves with the flowing tide.

After a time, the water got shallow and they pushed her across the mud while leaves and rotting branches floated up the creek. No light pierced the forest, and the feeble beam of Kit's lantern scarcely touched the shadowy trunks that moved past until they came to an opening. Kit thought this was the spot he had been told about and turned the boat. She would not float to the bank and he and his four men got out and lifted the coffin. They sank in treacherous mud, but reached a belt of sand riddled by land-crab's holes. All was very quiet except for the ripple of the tide and the noise made by the scuttling crabs. The sand, however, was dry and warm and they sat down to wait for morning when the boat went away.



CHAPTER X

THE ROAD TO THE MISSION

The sun was high when Kit and his tired men reached the village. He was wet with sweat and the moisture that had dripped upon him from the leaves in the early morning, and the men gasped when they put down their load. Two wore greasy engine-room overalls, and two ragged suits of duck; their soft hats were stained and battered and they looked like ruffians. Although Mayne paid good wages, respectable seamen avoided the Rio Negro and her crew were, as a rule, accustomed to fight with knives and sandbags on disorderly water-fronts. Now they carried pistols, hidden as far as possible, but ready for use.

Small, square mud houses occupied the hole in the forest. Where the plaster had not fallen off, their white fronts were dazzling, but they were dirty and ruinous and the narrow street was strewn with decaying rubbish. Although the pueblo had once prospered under Spanish rule, it was now inhabited by languid half-breeds of strangely mixed blood, engaged in smuggling and revolutionary plots. They stood about the doorways, barefooted and ragged, watching Kit with furtive black eyes.

"I want porters and a guide to the mission," he told the patron, who lounged against a wall smoking a cigar.

"It is a long way, senor, and the road is bad. Besides, one cannot travel when the sun is high."

"The road is, no doubt, safer then than in the dark."

"That is true," agreed the other with a philosophic shrug. "The country is disturbed."

"I must start at once," Kit said firmly. "I am willing to pay for the risk."

The patron spoke to the others in a harsh dialect, but none of the loafing figures moved.

"They say the risk is great," he remarked. "There has been fighting and the president's soldiers are in the woods."

"The president's soldiers will not meddle with us," Kit answered, incautiously.

For a moment the half-breed's eyes were keen, but his dark face resumed its inscrutable look.

"Then the senor is a friend of the president's?"

"If we meet his soldiers, they will let me pass."

"The soldiers are not the worst. There are the rurales; men without shame, who shoot and ask no questions. However, we will see if I can find porters, if the senor will wait until the afternoon."

Kit distrusted the fellow and thought he had an object for putting off the start. He had been warned that the Meztisos sympathized with the rebels, and imagined that his party's safety depended on its speed. But he did not want to look impatient, and, imitating the other's carelessness, sat down and lighted a cigarette while he pondered. To begin with, he suspected that the patron would prevent his meeting any of the president's soldiers who might be about, and it would be prudent to finish his business and get back to the ship before Galdar knew he was in the woods. His men claimed to be American citizens and Mayne knew where he had gone, but the latter's statements might be doubted if the party disappeared. It was known that Askew was engaged in a risky trade and the captain's story would look more romantic than plausible.

Kit saw he must depend upon his own resources and presently noted that a man was leaving the village. The fellow kept behind the group in the street as far as he could and moved quickly. There was something stealthy about his movements and when he looked back, as if to see if Kit were watching, the latter got up.

"Stop that man," he said.

"But he is going to his work, senor," the patron objected.

"In this country, one does not work while the sun is high," said Kit, who rather ostentatiously pulled out his pistol. "Call him back!"

The patron shouted and the man returned, but Kit kept his pistol in his hand.

"Nobody must leave the pueblo until I start," he said. "I want porters and am willing to pay."

"Very well," the patron agreed, shrugging. "Perhaps I can find a few men, but they will want the money before they go."

For a time, Kit bargained. The sailors were tired, and few white men are capable of much exertion in the tropic swamps. He must have help, and doubting if the Meztisos could be trusted, thought it best to offer a sum that would excite their greed, but stipulated that half would not be paid until they returned. When the patron was satisfied Kit turned to the sailors.

"You'll have to hustle, boys," he said. "The sooner we make the mission, the sooner we'll get back, and I reckon nobody wants to stop in these swamps. There's something beside your wages coming to you."

"That's all right, boss," one replied. "The old man drove hard, but he paid well and he was white. You can go ahead; we'll put the job over."

The peons took up the stretcher-poles lashed to the coffin, a relief party went behind and they set off. Nobody spoke and the Meztisos' bare feet fell silently on the hot sand, although Kit heard the dragging tramp of the sailors' muddy boots. In the open space round the village, the sun burned their skin and they pushed on as fast as possible for the twilight of the woods.

Here and there a bright gleam pierced the gloom, but for the most part deep shadow filled the gaps between the trunks. Creepers laced the great cottonwoods, tangled vines crawled about their tall, buttressed roots, and hung in festoons from the giant branches. Some of the trees were rotten and orchids covered their decay with fantastic bloom. The forest smelt like a hothouse, but the smell had an unwholesome sourness. Growth ran riot; green things shot up, choked each other, and sank in fermenting corruption.

Kit did not know if it was a relief to escape from the glare of the clearing or not. The sun no longer burned him, but he could hardly breathe the humid air, and effort was almost impossible.

All the same, he pushed on, floundering in muddy pools and sinking in belts of mire. The road had been made long since, by slave labor, when the Spaniards ruled, and had fallen into ruin, like the country, when their yoke was broken. Kit could trace the ancient causeway across the swamps and wondered when another strong race would put their stamp on the land. The descendants of the conquerors had sunk into apathetic sloth; the blood of the dark-skinned peoples that ran in their veins had quenched the old Castilian fire.

When the light was fading, the porters declared the swamps in front were dangerous and put down their load, and after some trouble the white men lighted a fire. A heavy dew began to drip from the leaves and the blaze was comforting in the gloom that swiftly settled down. Kit had brought a piece of tarpaulin and spread it between the roots of a cottonwood. He did not mean to go to sleep, but his head ached and he was worn out by physical effort and anxious watching. By and by his eyes got heavy and he sank down in a corner of the great roots.

The fire had burned low when he looked up and a bright beam that touched a neighboring trunk indicated that the moon was high. All was very quiet but for the splash of the falling dew; the glade was a little brighter, and rousing himself with an effort, he glanced about. He saw the white men's figures, stretched in ungainly attitudes on a piece of old canvas. They were all there, but he could not see the Meztisos. Getting up, he walked into the gloom and then stopped with something of a shock. There was nobody about.

For a few moments, Kit thought hard. To begin with, he had been rash to pay half the porters' wages before they started. The money was a large sum for them and they had stolen away; perhaps because they were satisfied and afraid of meeting the president's soldiers, or perhaps to betray the party to the rebels for another reward. If the latter supposition were correct, Kit thought he ran some risk. Galdar's friends knew he could not be bribed and that Adam was ill, although it was hardly possible they knew he was dead. They would see that Kit had now control and since his help was valuable to the president might try to kill him. His best plan was to push on.

He wakened the sailors, who grumbled, but picked up the coffin when he tersely explained the situation. Wet bushes brushed against them, soaking their thin clothes, trailers caught their heads, and the road got wetter and rougher until they came to a creek. Kit could not tell how deep it was; the forest was very dark and only a faint reflection marked the water.

"We must get across, boys," he said, and the others agreed. They were hard men, but the dark and silence weighed them down and excited vague superstitious fears. It was a gruesome business in which they were engaged and they did not like their load.

They plunged in and one called out hoarsely when he stumbled and the lurching coffin struck his head. Another gasped, as if he were choking, while he struggled to balance the poles. The current rippled round their legs; it was hard to pull their feet out of the mud, and when there was a splash in the dark they stopped, dripping with sweat that was not altogether caused by effort. One swore at the others in a breathless voice.

"Shove on, you slobs!" he said. "The old man's getting heavier while you stop. I want to dump him and be done with the job. Guess I've had enough."

Splashing and stumbling, they went forward and when they struggled up the bank Kit wiped his wet face. For a moment or two he had thought the men would drop their load and as it jolted, vague and black, on their shoulders, the creaking of the poles had jarred his nerves. He was going to keep his promise, but he sympathized with the man who had had enough.

After they left the creek, the road got very bad and in places vanished in belts of swamp. They sank in mud and stagnant water and no light pierced the daunting gloom, but it was not hard to keep the proper line, because one could not enter the jungle without a cutlass to clear a path. At length, when the men were exhausted, the trees got thinner and the moonlight shining through touched the front of a ruined building. The rest was indistinct, but the building was large and had evidently belonged to a sugar or coffee planter. The sailors stopped and Kit studied a gap in the wall.

The gap did not look inviting and there were, no doubt, snakes and poisonous spiders inside, but he could go no farther and the broken walls offered some protection. Perhaps Kit was moved by an atavistic fear of the dark forest, and he owned that he was influenced by the civilized man's longing for the shelter of a house. They went in, and after putting down the coffin in a room where vines crawled about the ruined wall, the sailors entered the next. One frankly stated that they wanted to get away from the coffin; Kit could stop and watch it if he liked, but it bothered them to have the thing about.

Kit let them go, and sitting down in a corner among the rubbish lighted a cigar. A moonbeam rested on the opposite wall and the room was not dark. Some light came in through holes, although there was impenetrable gloom beyond the door by which the men had gone. He could see the wet leaves of the vines, and the black coffin, covered by the flag. But he was not afraid of it; the man who lay there had been his friend and claimed the fulfilment of his promise.

At the same time, it was soothing to hear the sailors' voices, until they got faint and stopped. Afterwards the silence was burdensome, although a small creature began to rustle in the wall. Kit did not know if it was a snake or a spider, and was too tired to feel disturbed. By and by his cigar fell from his mouth. He picked it up, but it fell again and his head drooped.

The moonbeam had moved some distance when he opened his eyes and straightened his body with a jerk. The room was nearly dark, and when he thought about it afterwards, he imagined he was only half awake, for his heart beat and he was conscious of an enervating fear. A dark object, indistinct but like a man, stood beside the coffin.

With something of an effort, Kit recovered his self-control as the figure turned and came towards him. It moved with a curious stealthy gait, making no noise, and this was enough for Kit. He had no grounds for distrusting the sailors, and they wore heavy boots. Trying not to change his position, he felt for his automatic pistol. The butt caught a fold of his sash and he was forced to bend his elbow in order to get it out. It looked as if he would be too late, and he slipped as the movement dislodged the rubbish on which he sat. Then, as he shrank with an instinctive quiver from the prick of the knife, the figure swerved and leaped back.

Kit threw up the pistol and pulled the trigger. There was a flash that dazzled his eyes and a little smoke curled up, but when he leaned forward his antagonist had gone. He heard no movement when he sprang to his feet and almost imagined he had been dreaming, until the sailors shouted and their boots rattled on the broken floor. They ran in and when Kit told them what had happened went to the hole in the wall.

The moonlight touched the front of the building and part of the road was bright, but the shadow of the forest had crept across the rest. All was very quiet; there was no sound in the gloom. Then a flake of plaster fell close behind Kit's head and a sharp report rolled across the trees. One of the men shot at a venture and two of his companions ran savagely along the road, until Kit called them back.

"Come in," he said when they returned. "You're a plain mark in the moonlight and can't see the other fellow among the trees."

"Looks as if it was you he wanted," one replied. "Well, I guess we have no use for being left without a boss, and since we don't like our camping ground, you have got to come with us. We'll draw cuts for who's to watch."

Kit went with them. He felt shaken, for the man who had brought down the plaster was obviously a good shot. He imagined it was another who had intended to stab him; in fact, a number of his enemies might be lurking about. He was not, as a rule, vindictive, but the stealthy attack had induced a dangerous mood and he was sorry he had missed the man. It was hard to see why he had done so, but he had, perhaps, been half asleep. Now, however, he resolved to watch until day broke.



CHAPTER XI

KIT KEEPS HIS PROMISE

It was getting light when the man on watch called Kit, who went to the gap in the wall. Thin mist drifted about the trees and trailed across the road. There was some open ground in front of the building, but behind this the forest loomed in a blurred, shadowy mass.

"I reckon I saw something move where the fog's on the road," the man remarked.

Kit saw nothing. His eyes were keen, for he had searched the hillsides for sheep, but it looked as if they were not as keen as the sailor's, and standing in the shadow he watched the indicated spot. After a minute or two, a figure came out of the fog and signaled with a lifted hand.

"More of them around!" said the sailor grimly. "There's trouble coming to them if they mean to corral us. Jake's at the side window, and he had to get out of Mobile because he was too handy with his gun. Not often had to pull mine, but I can shoot some."

"Quit talking!" Kit rejoined, and his mouth set firm when the figure vanished.

He thought the rebels meant to surround the building. If so, they were probably numerous, and the rifle shot some hours before justified the supposition. They had first tried to kill him quietly and, finding this impossible, had resolved to seize the party. Well, there was good cover behind the broken walls, his men were a reckless lot, and he meant to fight. He wished the others would begin, for standing, highly-strung, in the dew was nervous work.

The light had got clearer when he noted a movement in a festoon of trailing vines. The wet leaves shook as if somebody were cautiously pulling them back, and Kit stiffened his muscles. It was a comfort to feel his hand was steady, and although he had not used a pistol much he was a good shot with a gun. He thought he could send a bullet through the moving leaves, but wanted his lurking enemy to begin the fight.

A face appeared at an opening and an arm pushed through. The man was coming out and Kit felt his nerves tingle. Then, as the fellow's body followed his arm, the sailor said quietly, "Don't move, boss. I'll fix him."

Next moment, Kit swung round, for the man who stepped out into the road wore a white uniform. The sailor leaned against the wall to steady his aim, and his tense pose and rigid hand indicated that he was pressing the trigger.

"Hold on!" Kit shouted. "Don't shoot!"

The sailor lowered his pistol and Kit, springing out of the shadow, waved his hat.

"Come forward. We are friends."

The rural turned and called to somebody, and then joining Kit glanced at the sailor's pistol with a dry smile.

"It looks as if I had run some risk. You did not mean to be surprised."

"No," said Kit; "one takes precautions. I came very near being surprised last night."

"So the Galdareros are about? We suspected something like this."

"I suppose it was why you meant to search the hacienda. But did you see us?"

The rural indicated a plume of smoke that curled up from behind the ruined wall.

"We saw that. When one takes precautions it is prudent to see they are complete."

Kit nodded. There was no use in getting angry; his men were rash and careless, but, to some extent, this was why he had chosen them. They had, no doubt, lighted the fire to cook breakfast.

"Where is your companion?" he asked.

"There are three of us; you will see the others in a few moments. They watch the road farther on. It is usual for us to patrol in twos, but of late some have not returned. A revolution is a bad time for rurales; one pays old reckonings then."

Kit smiled. "I imagine it would have been bad for any Galdarero who had tried to steal away down the road. But I expect you know me?"

"We have orders about you, senor; you see a servant of yours," the rural answered with a bow. "But it might be better if you told us your plans."

After giving him a cigarette, Kit sent the sailor to tell the others and when the rurales came up offered them a share of the breakfast his men had cooked. While they ate he told them what had brought him there and where he was going.

"So the American is dead? I have seen him at the presidio," one remarked. "Well, senor, it would be prudent to finish your business at Salinas to-night. After that, I do not know. There has been fighting and some of the president's soldiers have been killed in the swamps."

"I must finish the business," Kit replied. "It does not matter what happens afterwards."

The rural nodded. "The American talked like that. Quick and short, but what he said went. However, we will go to Salinas with you when you are ready."

Kit got up and gave his men an order. "I am ready now."

They set off soon afterwards and reached the mission as the light was fading. Two small, mud buildings and a little church stood among some ruins in an opening, and a frail old man met the party at the gate. He took off his hat when the sailors put down the coffin, and then listened to Kit's quiet narrative.

"This poor place is yours; it was a prosperous mission long since," he said. "In this country, men no longer build, but plot and destroy—it is easier than the other. Now we will put the coffin in the church and then I will give you food."

Father Herman drew back an old leather curtain and the smell of incense met Kit as he stood at the door while the sailors went forward with their load. The church was nearly dark, but Kit saw it had some beauty and there were objects that hinted at more prosperous days. At the other end, a ruby lamp glimmered and a wax candle burned with a clear flame before a statue of the Virgin. Kit knew whence the candle came and that Hattie Askew had knelt on the stones, beneath it, praying that her husband might get well. Then he looked at Father Herman, with a doubt in his mind.

The other met his glance and smiled. "The greatest of these is charity," he said in Latin, and resumed in fine Castilian: "He was our benefactor, a man who kept his word, and with such a wife I think our faith was his. It is a gracious sentiment that they should not be parted."

"In a sense," Kit said quietly, "I think they have not been parted yet. At the last he said, with confidence, he was going to meet his wife."

"Who knows?" said Father Herman. "There is much that is dark; but one felt that his spirit reached out after hers. Well, I knew he would come back; I have long expected him."

He went forward and lighted more candles when the sailors put down the coffin, and the noise their boots made jarred Kit's nerves as they came back. The light spread, touching the bare walls and tawdry decorations about the shrines. It was a poor little church, falling into ruin, and the beauty its pious builders had given it was vanishing. Yet something redeemed it from being commonplace, and Kit felt a strange emotional stirring as his eyes rested on the dim ruby lamp and the rude black coffin. He thought the light of love could not be quenched and knew the tender romance that had burned in the heart of the old Buccaneer. It was with something of an effort he turned away, and followed Father Herman across the corral.

Two hours later, red torches flared in the dark as they laid Adam in his grave, and Kit, worn by anxiety and physical strain, listened dully to the solemn Latin office. Then, when the old priest's voice died away, he went back to the mission, where he fell asleep and slept twelve hours.

In the morning, he sat beneath a broken arch that had once formed part of a cloister. Outside the patch of shadow, the sun beat upon dazzling sand, and a few vivid green palm-fronds hung over a ruined wall. Beyond this the forest rose, dark and forbidding, against the glaring sky. Although the rest had refreshed Kit, he felt as if he had got older in the last few days and now the strain had slackened he was lonely. So far, he had obeyed orders and when doubtful looked to Adam for a lead, but Adam had gone and left him control. All that belonged to his youth had vanished; he was a man, with a man's responsibilities, and a man's problems to solve. Presently Father Herman came up and sat down opposite. Although he looked feeble, his glance was clear and kind.

"This house is yours, senor, and I am your servant," he said. "Yet I cannot hope that you will remain long and the times are disturbed. If I can help—"

"Since the rebels know I am here, it would not be safe to stay, but I cannot reach Salinas Point before the steamer sails," Kit replied. "I must get to Havana as soon as possible."

Father Herman thought for a few minutes and then resumed: "A small schooner is loading at a beach not far off and I know the patron. He would take you to Arenas, where the president has supporters and you might get a ship. I think he sails to-night, but I will send a message."

Kit thanked him and went on: "You were my uncle's friend, and now I have taken his place, you are mine. As you let him send you things the mission needed, perhaps you will not refuse me."

"I had not hoped for this," Father Herman answered with a grateful look. "The generous gifts meant much to us, for we are very poor."

"Friendship has privileges. Besides, it was my uncle's wish, and will be something I can do for his sake."

Father Herman's worn face got very soft and he gave Kit an approving glance. "You are his kinsman, senor; one cannot doubt that. Like him, you are staunch and do not forget, but in some ways you are different. I will take your gifts and pray that yours may be a less stormy life."

"Thank you," Kit said gently and went off to look after his men.

In the afternoon he left the mission, and a week later reached Havana, where he found a cablegram waiting. He got a shock when he opened it, and stood for a time with the message crumpled in his hand, for it told him that Peter Askew was dying at Ashness. Then he sat down on the long, arcaded veranda of the hotel, with a poignant sense of loss, for the last blow was heavier than the first. It would be too late when he got home; Andrew, his English relative, would not have sent the message had there been any hope.

After a time, Kit began to pull himself together. He felt dull and half stunned, but saw that he must brace up. Although one duty was denied him, another was left. He could not bid his father good-by, but he could keep his promise to Adam, and there was much to be done. Getting up with a resolute movement, he went to the telegraph office.

Although Peter had not hinted that he was ill, Kit felt he ought to have gone home before, and now blamed Alvarez for keeping him. He knew this was not logical, but he hated the country, with its turmoils and plots. It was not worth helping, and in very truth he did not know if by supporting the president he were helping it or not. After all, however, this was not important; Alvarez needed a last supply of munitions that Adam had agreed to send. Kit doubted if they would be paid for, but the doubt did not count for much. Adam knew the risk when he agreed and his engagements bound his nephew. The goods must be delivered and then Kit would let the business go. When he reached the office he wrote a cablegram to Andrew at Ashness and another to Mayne, who had left Havana before Kit arrived.



CHAPTER XII

THE LAST CARGO

Dusk was falling and Kit urged his tired mule up the winding road. His skin was grimed with dust, for he had ridden hard in scorching heat, and was anxious and impatient to get on. The Rio Negro was in the lagoon and some cargo had been landed, but Kit stopped the work when nobody came to take the goods. It looked as if the message he had sent through a secret channel had not reached the president, and this was ominous.

He had heard rumors of fighting when he was in Cuba and the United States, but the newspapers gave him little information and he had driven the Rio Negro across at full speed in order to finish the contract before the revolution spread, which was all he wanted. Adam's staunch loyalty had cost him his life, but the president had no claim on Kit. Besides, his stopping in the country had kept him away from Ashness when he was needed there. He smiled as he admitted that he was hardly logical, since he was stubbornly pushing on when almost exhausted in order that Alvarez might get the goods he required; but after all, this was for Adam's sake.

As he rode up the hill the sky got brighter and a flickering illumination was reflected on the clouds that hung about the mountains. It looked as if the town were lighted up and Kit wondered whether this was to celebrate a victory. He struck the mule, but the tired animal came near throwing him when it stumbled and he let it choose its pace. The jolt had shaken him and he was very tired.

For a time he skirted a belt of trees, and when he came out on the open hillside the illumination was ominously bright. Now he was getting nearer, the clouds looked different from the mist that rolled down the mountains in the evening; they were dark and trailed away from the range. Still, he could go no faster and he waited with growing anxiety until he reached a narrow tableland. It commanded a wider view and he raised himself in the stirrups as he saw that the light was the reflection of a large fire.

He sank back and pulling up the mule let the bridle fall on its drooping neck. It looked as if a number of houses were burning in the town, which indicated that there had been a fight. The trouble was he did not know who had won and this was important. If the president were badly beaten, he would not need the supplies at the lagoon, although they might be useful to the rebels. Kit imagined it would be prudent to turn back, but he must find out what had happened and sent the mule forward.

Half an hour afterwards he rode into the town. The small square houses were dark and there was nobody in the narrow street, but he heard a confused uproar farther on. Although the glare in the sky was fainter, it leaped up now and then and a cloud of smoke floated across the roofs. A red glow shone down the next street and he saw the pavement was torn up. Broken furniture lay among piles of stones, the walls were chipped, and when Kit got down he had some trouble to lead the mule across the ruined barricade. Although he saw nobody yet, the shouts that came from the neighborhood of the presidio were ominous.

Kit remounted and rode slowly up to the edge of the sandy square where the palms grew along the rails. The square was occupied by an excited crowd, but the presidio had gone. A great pile of smoking rubbish and a wall, broken by wide cracks, marked where it had stood. Flames played about the ruin and Kit turned his mule. He thought the crowd was waiting to search for plunder, and did not expect to find anybody calm enough to answer his questions. Besides, he needed food and drink and might learn what had happened at the cafe.

The small tables stretched across the street and were all occupied, but when Kit had tied the mule to the alameda railings opposite he found a chair and ordered an omelette and wine. The waiter looked at him with some surprise and Kit wondered whether it was prudent for him to stay.

"You have been burning the presidio," he remarked.

"We have got rid of a tyrant," the waiter replied.

"You may get another worse," said Kit, as coolly as he could. "What happened to the president?"

Somebody shouted "Mozo" and when the waiter went away Kit rested his arms on the table. He was very tired, and it was obvious that he had come too late. Since the president was overthrown, he had lost a large sum of money and wasted the efforts he had made to carry out Adam's engagements. He must get back to the lagoon as soon as possible, but he needed food and wanted to find out if Alvarez had escaped. There was, however, some risk in asking questions, because the cafe seemed to be occupied by triumphant rebels.

Presently the men at the next table got up and their place was taken by another group, among which Kit noted Francisca Sarmiento and her relations. He thought they looked surprised, but they saluted him politely, and soon afterwards the girl, who was nearest, looked round.

"You have courage, senor," she remarked in a meaning tone.

"I do not know if courage is needed," Kit replied, forcing a smile. "It looks as if I could no longer meddle with politics."

"Then, since you could not help Alvarez, why did you come?"

"I imagined I could help him, until I saw the presidio was burnt," Kit replied. "In fact, I haven't found out what has happened yet."

The girl studied him with some curiosity, but Kit felt that he had nothing to fear from her.

"If one did not know that you were incorruptible, one could understand your rashness," she said, in a mocking tone. "I suppose your steamer is in the lagoon?"

Kit looked round. The cafe was crowded, but the people were talking excitedly, and nobody seemed to notice him and the girl. The noise would prevent their talk being heard.

"There is no use in denying it, because Galdar's spies have, no doubt, seen her. I would be glad if you can tell me what has become of the president."

Francisca gave him a keen glance. "You do not know Alvarez is dead?"

"Ah!" said Kit. "I did not know. Was he killed?"

"He died soon after the fighting began. The doctors say it was apoplexy; he had been hurrying about in the burning sun."

"I wonder—He was a strong man and used to the sun."

Francisca smiled. "One does not ask questions at a time like this. It is prudent to believe what one is told. When the soldiers lost their leader they ran away."

Kit was silent for a few minutes. He had had a faint hope that the president might rally his supporters and begin the fight again, but the hope was gone. He knew all he wanted, and must leave the town as soon as he had had some food.

"Alvarez was a friend of mine, and the news you have given me is something of a shock," he said. "I think the country will feel its loss, but that is not my business, and since there is nothing to keep me here, I shall be glad to get away."

"It would be prudent to go soon," Francisca remarked in a low voice.

"I do not see why. I am no longer important enough for your friends to meddle with me."

"You are very modest, senor, if you are not rather dull. You have goods that would be useful to the new president, who has a rival he did not expect. Don Felix Munez has turned traitor, and there are people who support him in the coast province."

"Another president!" Kit exclaimed with a soft laugh, and then bowed to the girl. "I think you mean well. You have given me a useful hint and you have my thanks. I will be rash and tell you that Galdar shall not have the goods I brought."

Franciscans eyes got soft and a touch of color crept into her olive skin.

"One does not often meet a man who puts honor before money. Adios, senor! I wish you well."

Then she turned to her companions, who presently left the table and soon afterwards Kit's omelette was brought. While he ate, Olsen came in and sitting down opposite, lighted a cigarette.

"You'll allow that the Buccaneer backed the wrong man," he said. "I warned you and reckon your obstinacy has cost you something."

"That is so," Kit agreed. "One must run risks in a business like this, but I don't expect you to sympathize."

Olsen smiled. "I don't pretend I'm not satisfied, but I can show you how to get some of your money back. I've learned much about you and Askew since we had our last talk, and am willing to buy part of the Rio Negro's cargo."

"You seem to know she has arrived?"

"Oh, yes; I knew some hours since. I've been looking out for you."

"To whom do you mean to sell the goods?" Kit asked.

"Does that matter?"

"Yes; it's rather important."

"The important thing is you'll get paid," Olsen rejoined.

Kit frowned. He imagined he could demand a high price, and now Alvarez was dead, there was perhaps no reason for refusing to bargain; but he did not mean to let Galdar have the goods. He thought Adam would not have done so, and he held the new president, to some extent, accountable for Adam's last illness.

"The cargo is not for sale," he said.

"Oh, shucks!" Olsen exclaimed. "I reckon you want to put up the price."

"No," said Kit, rather grimly, "I don't want to sell."

"Don't be a fool. The man you backed is dead. You carried out your contract, and it doesn't matter to him now who gets the truck."

"That's true," Kit replied. "But I won't help his rival."

Olsen looked hard at him and saw he was resolute. "Oh, well! If you're determined, there's no use in arguing! You're something of a curiosity; I haven't met a man like you before."

He went away and Kit ordered more wine, for he was thirsty after his long ride and had borne some strain. He had to wait for the wine, but had expected this since the cafe was crowded, and in the meantime he got up and looked across the street. Nobody had meddled with the mule, which stood quietly by the railings with drooping head. Kit wondered where he could get it some food and if he could hire a fresh animal.

Then a waiter brought the wine and when he had drunk some and lighted a cigarette Kit, listening to the talk of the men at the next table, got a hint that threw some light on Olsen's offer. Alvarez had used the vaults under the presidio for a munition store, and when he was dead the mayor-domo had blown up the building as the rebels forced their way in. Now there was a new president in the field, it was obvious why Galdar wanted fresh supplies. This, however, was not important, and Kit drained his glass and then tried to rouse himself. He must look after the mule and if it was not fit for the journey get another animal.

He felt strangely reluctant to move; the fatigue he had for a time shaken off returned with puzzling suddenness and threatened to overpower him. His head was very heavy, he could hardly hear the people talk, and every now and then his eyes shut. He could not keep them open, but after a few minutes he straightened his bent shoulders with a resolute jerk and clenched his fist. It was not fatigue that was mastering him; the wine was drugged. He had not noted a suspicious taste, but he was thirsty and the omelette was strongly flavored with garlic and red pepper.

Holding himself stiffly upright, he tried to think. Olsen had, no doubt, ordered the wine to be drugged, and his object was plain. He meant to prevent Kit reaching the lagoon until he had removed the cargo on the beach and tried to persuade Mayne to land the rest. Well, the plot would fail, and with an effort Kit got up and crossed the street. He suspected that he was watched, but nobody tried to stop him and he mounted the mule.

The animal moved off at a better pace than he had hoped and he tried to brace himself. His head ached and his brain was very dull, but somehow he stuck to the saddle, and although he could hardly guide the mule the animal avoided the people in its way. After a time, the street became empty, the noise behind was fainter, and the houses were dark. Nobody seemed to follow him and Kit began to hope he might be able to leave the town. He did not know what he would do then, and hardly imagined he could keep up the effort much longer. Perhaps, when he got away from the houses he could tie up the mule in a quiet place and rest.

When he rode down a rough track into open country he rocked in the saddle and would have fallen but for the high peak and big stirrups. The hillside was blurred; distorted objects that he thought were rocks and cactus lurched about in the elusive moonlight, and the sweat ran down his face as he fought against the drug. He knew it would conquer him, but he was going on as long as possible.

At length the mule stepped into a hole, Kit's foot came out of the stirrup and he fell. For a moment or two, the mule dragged him along; then he got his other foot loose and for a time knew nothing more.

The moonlight was fading when he opened his eyes and saw that he was lying beside a clump of cactus. Indistinct objects moved along the road not far off and he heard the click of hoofs on stones. A mule train was passing and was, no doubt, going to the lagoon. He could not get up and was glad he was in dark shadow. The muleteers had probably been told to look out for him and a blow from a heavy stone would prevent his interfering with the rebels' plans. The indistinct figures, however, went on and Kit relapsed into unconsciousness.

It was daylight when he wakened and saw a man bending over him. Kit was cold and wet with dew; his head ached horribly and he did not try to get up. His pistol was underneath him and if the fellow meant to kill him he could not resist.

"What do you want?" he asked.

The man said he had seen him lying there and imagined he was ill. Then he held out his hand and asked if Kit could get up. Kit was surprised when he found himself on his feet, although he swayed as he tried to keep his balance.

"I suppose you are a liberator?" he said dully.

The other clenched his dark fist. "No, senor! Those dogs, the Galdareros, are no friends of mine! But you were for the president; it was known in the town."

Kit admitted it. The fellow's scornful denial was comforting and after some talk, walking with a painful effort, he went with him down the hill to a small mud house. A few minutes after he got there he went to sleep, but in the meantime the man had promised to help him to reach the lagoon.

He kept his promise, and before it was light next morning Kit dismounted on the sandy beach. There was no moon and mist drifted about the trees, but the water shone faintly and the tide was nearly full. The steamer loomed in the gloom and when Kit shouted there was a rattle of pulley blocks and a splash of oars. Ten minutes afterwards Mayne met him at the gangway and gave him his hand.

"It's some relief to see you back," he said. "Finlay has his fires banked and can get steam to take us out in an hour or two."

Kit went with him to his room and sat down limply. He was covered with dust and wet with dew; his face was haggard and his eyes were dull.

"I'll tell you about my adventures later," he said. "What about the cargo?"

"Some dagos came along with a mule train and loaded up part of the truck on the beach. They had an order that looked as if it had been signed by you, and as they were a pretty tough crowd and had their knives loose, I let them take the goods. When I studied the order I wasn't sure about the hand and brought off all they had left. By and by another gang came along, but I refused to send a boat until I'd seen you."

"You were prudent," Kit remarked. "The order was forged. Let me see the mate's cargo-lists."

He studied the book Mayne gave him and then pondered. Olsen had, no doubt, forged the order and Kit imagined he would have some trouble to get payment for the goods. The manufacturers might be persuaded to take back the rest of the cargo at something less than its proper price, but Kit thought the value of the munitions supplied to Alvarez would be lost. The new president would certainly try to disown the debt. Kit, however, had known that Adam's staunchness might cost him much, and something might, perhaps, be saved. He had had enough of the country, and as soon as he could straighten out the tangle in which the revolution had involved Adam's business he was going back to Ashness.

"Heave your anchor when you're ready," he said to Mayne. "We'll call at Havana and then steam for New Orleans."

At high-water he stood on the bridge, watching the mangroves fade into the mist. Ahead, the sun was rising out of a smooth sea, the air was fresh, and Kit's heart was lighter. He had done with plots and intrigue and was going back to Ashness and the quiet hills. At the same time, he felt a tender melancholy as he thought about the little church at Salinas and the marble cross in the sandy yard. Then he lifted his head and the melancholy vanished as he looked across the sparkling water. The clang of engines rose and fell with a measured beat and there was a noisy splashing at the bows. Bright streaks of foam eddied about the Rio Negro's side, and a long smoke cloud trailed astern as she steamed to the North.



PART III—KIT'S RETURN



CHAPTER I

KIT'S WELCOME

Kit was comfortably tired when he sat down by the beck at the head of the dale. He had been at Ashness for a week, and finding much to be done had occupied himself with characteristic energy. It was a relief to feel that the heat of the tropics had not relaxed his muscles as much as he had thought, and that the languidness he had sometimes fought against was vanishing before the bracing winds that swept his native hills. The ache in his arms had come from using the draining spade and his knees were stiff after a long walk through the heather to examine the Herdwick sheep. His vigor was coming back and he was conscious of a keen but tranquil satisfaction with the quiet dale.

Filling his pipe lazily, he looked about. The sun was near the summit of the fells and the long slopes were turning gray in the shadow. The yellow light touched the other side of the valley, and the narrow bottom, through which shining water ran, was a belt of cool dark-green. A faint bleating of sheep came down the hill, and the beck splashed softly among the stones.

Kit found the quiet soothing. He had had enough excitement and adventure, and had half-consciously recognized that the life he had led in the tropics was not for him. On the whole, he thought he had made good. One did one's best at the work one found, but intrigue was not his proper job. For all that, he did not mean to philosophize and had something to think about.

When he sold the Rio Negro and paid his debts he found a larger surplus than he had hoped. Moreover, his agents had not yet enforced all business claims and might be able to send him a fresh sum. The money he brought home would not have made him a rich man in America, but it would go a long way in the dale, and the soil and flocks at Ashness could be improved by modern methods and carefully spent capital. Kit had begun at once and found his task engrossing, but when the day's work was over he felt a gentle melancholy and a sense of loneliness. Adam and Peter had gone and he had loved them both; he knew he would not meet their like again. Yet he had not lost them altogether. They had, so to speak, blazed the trail for him, and he must try to follow, fronting obstacles with their fearless calm.

Then he took his pipe from his mouth and his heart beat as a figure came round a bend of the road. The girl was some distance off and he could not see her face, but he knew her and braced himself. He had known the meeting must come and much depended on her attitude. Grace was no longer a romantic girl, and though he had not forgotten her, she might have been persuaded that she had nothing to do with him. Now she must choose her line, and he sat still, half prepared for her to pass him with a bow. While he waited, his dog got up and ran along the road. Old Bob knew Grace, and it looked as if she had spoken to, and perhaps petted, him while his master was away.

She stopped, and Kit felt ashamed when he got up, for she gave him her hand with a friendly look and he saw she had not changed as much as he had thought. The proud calm he approved was perhaps more marked, but he imagined the generous rashness he had liked as well still lurked beneath the surface. He had met attractive girls in the tropics who knew they were beautiful and added by art to their physical charm. Grace, however, used hers unconsciously; he thought she was too proud to care if she had such charm or not.

"I am glad to see you back," she said and stroked the dog that leaped upon her. "Bob and I are friends. He knew me when I came round the corner."

"So did I," Kit rejoined quietly.

He thought he noted a touch of color in her face, but she smiled.

"You did not get up. Perhaps you were not sure, like Bob?"

"I think I was sure. But I have been away some time and it was not my part to force you to acknowledge me."

"If I didn't want to?" Grace suggested. "Well, I do not forget my friends, and now, if you are satisfied, we can let that go." She paused and resumed when he went on with her: "The dalesfolk have missed you, particularly since your father died. It must have been a shock—I felt it, too, because I saw him now and then. We were friends in spite of all."

Kit was grateful for her frank sympathy, and felt he could talk to her about his father.

"He did not tell me this, but he liked you."

"He was just," Grace replied. "People knew, and trusted him. He had none of the rancor that often leads us wrong. When he was firm he did not get angry. That kind of attitude is hard, but it makes things easier. But you were in America with his brother, were you not?"

"I was in the United States, and afterwards in some of the countries on the Caribbean."

"Ah," said Grace with curiosity, "that must have been interesting! One understands that is a beautiful and romantic coast, with its memories of the great Elizabethan sailors and the pirates."

"It is romantic, and dangerous in parts. You can land at some of the towns from modern mail-boats and find smart shops and cafes; others have fallen into ruin and lie, half-hidden by the forest, beside malaria-haunted lagoons. You steal in through the mist at the top of a high tide, much as the old pirates did, and when you land, find hints of a vanished civilization and the Spaniards' broken power. But you seem to know something about the coast."

Grace smiled. "You look surprised! There is a library at Tarnside, although it is not often used, and we have books about the voyages of the buccaneers. One book is rather fascinating. But what were you doing in the lagoons?"

"Sometimes we loaded dyewoods and rubber; sometimes we lent money to ambitious politicians in return for unlawful trading privileges, and now and then engaged in business that was something like that of the old adventurers."

"After that, you must find the dale very tame," Grace remarked, and quietly studied Kit.

She had liked his honesty and resolution before he went abroad, but he had gained something she had not noted then. Although he wore rough working clothes and had obviously been digging, he had an elusive touch of distinction, and there was a hint of command in his quiet look. He had seen the world, confronted dangers, and used power, and this had put a stamp on him.

"It is hard to imagine you a pirate," she remarked with a twinkle. "You don't look the part, and, no doubt, like other occupations, it requires some study."

Kit laughed. "One does the best one can! I rather think taking trouble and a determination to make good are as useful as specialized training."

"Perhaps that's true. It's curious, in a way, but I expect a good farmer, for example, might make a successful buccaneer. One understands, though, that the last pirate was hanged a hundred years since."

"There are a few left, although their methods have changed with the times. Some day I would like to tell you about my uncle. He was, so to speak, a survival, and I think you would appreciate him. But how have things been going in the dale?"

Grace's twinkle vanished, her look became serious, and Kit thought he noted signs of strain. After all, she had changed since he left Ashness. It was not that she looked older, although she was now a rather stately woman and not an impulsive girl; he felt that she had known care.

"On the whole," she said, "things have not gone very well. We have had wet summers and heavy snow in spring. The flocks are poor and rents have come down. Bell has gone; he quarreled with Hayes about some new machinery for the mill. All is much the same at Tarnside, though my father is not so active. Gerald left Woolwich—perhaps you knew—and is in a London bank."

Kit hid his surprise. Gerald was not the stuff of which good bank clerks are made, although Osborn's influence with the local manager had, no doubt, got him the post. Kit imagined the lad had been forced to leave Woolwich, but money must be scarce at Tarnside, since he had gone into business. This threw some light on the hint of weariness he had noted about Grace. If fresh economy was needful, she and Mrs. Osborn must carry the load.

"Hayes is still your agent. I met him yesterday and he gave me a sour nod," Kit remarked.

"Yes," said Grace, and added quietly: "I sometimes wish he were not!"

"Well, I never liked the man. All the same, he's a very good agent, from the landlord's point of view, and your father's interests ought to be safe with him."

"I suppose so," Grace agreed, but her look was doubtful, and they reached the Ashness lonning a few minutes later. When Kit stopped she gave him her hand. "I hear you are going to make a number of improvements, and wish you good luck!"

Kit went up the lonning and sitting down in the porch lighted his pipe. Grace had not forgotten; she had given him his real welcome home and he thrilled as he thought about her quiet friendliness. Perhaps the meeting was awkward for her, but she had struck the right note, with the dignified simplicity he had expected. It said something for her pluck that she had met him as if the interview at Ashness, when Osborn had driven him away, had never taken place. All this was comforting, but Kit was vaguely disturbed on her account.

He had noted a hint of anxiety and she had implied that things were not going well for the Osborns. He meant to marry Grace; his longing for her was keener than he had felt it yet, but it was not altogether selfish. She must be removed from surroundings in which she could not thrive. Tarnside, with its rash extravagance, pretense, and stern private economy, was not the place for her. But he felt he must be patient and cautious; there were numerous obstacles in his way.

In the meantime, Grace met Thorn farther along the road and tried to hide her annoyance as he advanced. Perhaps it was the contrast between him and Kit, whose thin, brown face had a half-ascetic look, for Alan was fat and getting coarse. Grace had noted this before, but not so plainly as she did now. His manners were urbane and he belonged to her circle; to some extent, his code was hers and she had his prejudices and tastes. All the same, she did not like him; for one thing, he was a type her father approved, a man of local importance and strictly local ideas, and Osborn had forced her into rebellion. Alan managed the otter hounds well and knew much about farming, but he was satisfied with this. Although he belonged to a smart London club, Grace imagined he only went there because he thought he ought. Yet he was cunning and patient, and knowing why he bore with Osborn, she was sometimes afraid.

"Was that Askew?" he inquired when he turned and went on with her.

Grace said it was and he gave her a careless look.

"I heard he had come back. Might have been better if he had stayed away. A fellow like that is rather disturbing."

"I don't think he could do much harm, when you and Hayes are on your guard," Grace rejoined.

"That is so," Thorn agreed and she could not tell if he knew she had meant to be ironical. "Anyhow, I don't suppose he wants to do much harm; I was thinking about his example."

"Is it a dangerous example to improve one's land? I thought you advocated scientific farming?"

"So I do. I don't mean that, although I don't know if Askew's farming is scientific or not. One can't judge yet. His independence and habit of taking his own line might be dangerous."

"Mr. Askew's independence is justified. Ashness is his."

"Yes," said Thorn thoughtfully, "that's the trouble. If he was a farming tenant, things would be easier."

Grace laughed. "You are delightfully naive! I'm afraid you'll have to leave Mr. Askew alone, but I don't expect he'll do anything alarming. I think you know he is a friend of mine."

"I knew he was, before he went abroad. If you have renewed the friendship, it means you're satisfied about him and perhaps we needn't be disturbed. Your judgment is generally sound."

"Thank you," said Grace. "I have relations who would not agree! But why do you dislike people who take their own line?"

"It would be awkward if one's tenants did so; but perhaps my feeling springs from envy. The rest of us can't do what we want. You can't, for example!"

Grace gave him a keen glance, and then laughed. "On the whole, that is true. We have a number of rules at Tarnside, but one now and then gets some satisfaction from breaking them."

"Rebellion doesn't pay," Thorn rejoined with a touch of dry humor. "You are young and adventurous, but you'll find it prudent, so to speak, to accept your environment and submit. Some people call submission duty, but that's really cant; they mean it saves them trouble. Anyhow, you cannot make your own code; when you're born at a place like Tarnside, it's made for you."